


The Greenberg Theory

by FruitfulMind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: he's everybody's favorite conspiracy theorist, in which I just REALLY wanted to write some Finstock.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 01:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10205675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FruitfulMind/pseuds/FruitfulMind
Summary: Coach has been sitting pretty at the rehab for a few months now, but he still has the thought of that insane arrow guy returning. With the return of two familiar faces, will his life change drastically again?





	

Bobby's eyes didn't lift up from the mahogany table, his gaze still locked to it. It'd been a while since his fateful encounter with the arrow, and that was it. Beacon Hills was weird enough as it is, but getting shot with an arrow? If it was someone else, the coach would've just laughed it off as a freak hunting accident, and told them to walk it off.

It was different when it happened to him. Now he made his home in the rehab clinic, it was much more safe than outside. There were no wild animal attacks, no weirdo came in shooting arrows at people, and hey! Some of the nurses weren't too bad looking. A man could get use to this life.

But some things always came to an end, and that end came with the arrival of Stilinkski and McCall. It seemed wherever those two went, weird things were bound to follow. After they left, he made sure to check around the clinic, just in case a weirdo came in carrying a bow. He'd know, and the wouldn't get past ol' Bobby Finstock; the man dealt with teenagers, he could deal with some (probably) middle aged freak.

“An arrow, of all things that could've killed me – it was an arrow.” Bobby was found muttering to himself as he sat in his room. He shook his head. Stiles shot Scott an incredulous look, Scott shrugged his shoulders, looking just as confused as his friend. “They should ban those things! Forget guns!” The coach began to rant, “Arrows kill more people than guns!”

“I don't think that's true,” Stiles said, trying to reason with him. “Like. At all.” He was ignored though, Bobby choosing instead to fall into a rant of why they need to better monitor the school; that, Stiles could agree with.

Bobby shook his head again, his teeth gritting. “I know exactly who did it, too!”

The friends shot each other another look. “I'm not explaining it to him.” Stiles mouthed to Scott. He'd always been the one to explain Beacon Hill's happenstances to the locals. He figured long ago that 'Stiles: Beacon Hills Supernatural Tour Guide' had a nice ring to it; maybe it was time to do the name good.

Scott didn't really know how to read lips, but he didn't need to with Stile's expression. He nodded sternly, his features changing to one of an alpha as he moved closer to the coach's chair. “Coach,” He began, trying to think of the words to best describe what's been happening for the past five years. There was just so much he could tell him about, not including stuff he wouldn't probably believe. “There's been a lot of changes; to me, to the team, to Beacon Hills--”

“It was Greenberg!” He shouted, Scott winced back. Sometimes having a good sense of hearing wasn't always the best, as he'd grown to learn. “It had to be, who else would it be!” Stiles could name a couple. Not just enemies of the pack, but enemies of the coach as well. It still didn't stop the boy from nearly slamming his palm to his face and groaning.

Scott's heart slowed down. He was growing nervous of the suspicion, especially after all that's happened to everyone over the years; at least some things never changed. “Greenberg did it?” He asked, disbelief in his tone. He tried not to shake his head as the coach nodded quickly.

“Of course, it had to been! Who else would've tried killing me? Obviously, he figured if he wasn't doing good in my class, he'd have to get rid of me!”

Stiles shook his head instead, rubbing his face lightly. “But he was there, he was with us!”

“So. He could have set it up--” Stiles groaned a bit louder. Bobby sent a glare his way, the man retorting, “I might not be your coach, but that doesn't mean I'm not still your coach!”

Stiles tried his best to bite back a remark. If it was anyone else, he might have said something. But he was a bit afraid of what might happen to him if he did. “He was the one that stopped the bleeding!” This shocking revelation put a pin in Bobby's 'Greenberg Causes Everything to Go Wrong' theory, the man's face deflating.

Whatever fire that fueled the man quickly was snuffed out, with the man slumped forward in his chair. He studied the wall, Scott was sure he was going to rebuttal that, find something wrong with Stiles's statement. But no fire came back, instead the man seemed to accept it really was just a stranger with a vendetta against him, or ill-fated luck. “Oh.” Coach said, turning his hand to a discarded puzzle. He played with a piece in his fingertips. “Guess he was always a bit to slow to think about something like that. Would be like him though,” Bobby said as he looked up from the piece. “Couldn't even kill me, just wounds me. Thought I was a goner. At least nothing can harm me in here, boys!”

Stiles wanted to say that a lot of things could: rogue rehab members, nurses who might be kleptomaniacs, overdosing on medication, etcetera etcetera. But, maybe he would let Coach have this little victory. He still wasn't sure how he was still boarding in the clinic, the staff would catch on eventually; maybe they liked him here? “Yeah, you're _completely _safe here.”__

“That's right! I'm fit as a fiddle too. These guys don't know anything.” He tapped his head, slamming the puzzle piece into place. “So... Whatever happened to him?”

“To who?” Scott asked.

The coach groaned sharply. The boy was always slow on the upkeep, but damn could he play an amazing game. He saw a lot of himself in the boy. “To Greenberg, McCall!”

Scott's eyes widened, he almost forgotten the discussion early. “Oh yeah, he graduated early.” He explained, a smile on his face.

Some weren't as happy though. “He... _graduated _?” Bobby asked. He knew Greenberg when he was freshman. That was about five or six years ago? How the hell did he graduate? “Ha! Good one, McCall! I've missed your humor!”__

Stiles's eyebrow rose up, and his arms folded in front of his chest. “He's being serious. Greenberg graduated...” He counted the months in his head. “Three months ago? You didn't know?” Stiles figured as much. But if he was Greenberg, he would've at least found Coach to gloat in his face, or maybe post a demeaning post on Facebook.

“I've been in here for **FIVE** months, Stilinski!” Coach roared, his hands tightening on the arm rests of his chair, almost picking himself up. “Good on him.” He said, calming down from his outburst. Sometimes his mood flared up, even before the rehabilitation. “I saw potential in him. Even like he was my own son.” The coach shook his head. “My own weird son.”

Time was drawing to an end for Scott and Stiles's visit, they'd been counting down the hours to when visitor hours would end, both wishing they would get the information they needed that would help their supernatural case and they could go. Unluckily for them, even in rehab the Coach liked to talk. He liked to talk a lot; but his blabbermouth capabilities helped them out in the end. They thanked him, leaving the clinic altogether.


End file.
